Life Transitions by Fire: When Healing Feels Like Death Before Rebirth
- The Broken & Beautiful
- 2 days ago
- 5 min read
Some Life Transitions Begin with Fire
Not the kind that warms or illuminates—but the kind that strips, consumes, and leaves no familiar structure standing. In the abuse-awareness and trauma-recovery space, we often talk about healing as restoration, relief, or repair. But there is another kind of healing—one that feels far more like death than recovery, especially during life transitions that dismantle identity, certainty, and belonging.
This is a story of Fire, Death, Ashes, and Rebirth. Not as metaphor alone, but as lived experience. Because sometimes coming back to yourself requires the courage to let everything you thought you were die first. In my story, this death comes from…
... Fire.
My pursuit of healing and truth looked like questions that began to strike matches next to my life. These were questions about marriage, family relationships, parenting, identity, and Jesus.
“Is marriage supposed to feel like this?” (spark)
“Why does being a woman mean I’m treated as a lesser human?” (burn)
“What does honor actually mean?” (glow)
“Where is my joy?” (fizzle)
“If I didn’t have these roles, who would I be?” (flame)
Once I started questioning, Fire gained momentum. It started lapping at the edges of things I didn’t initially believe were important. Things like boundaries, definitions of abuse, and honesty about my life and memories. But once released, Fire moved. It targeted my decades-long marriage, my parenting, my motivations, my worth, and ultimately my very life.
If you know anything about Fire, you know that dead things burn quickly but living plants can withstand total destruction if Fire is moving fast enough. And Fire was on a mission. Once released, it sought out every dead and incongruent piece of my life. Who was I showing up as? Who was I actually created to be? The dead and dying pieces were consumed by the methodical burn of truth and love.
Ultimately, nothing escaped the Fire. Even my very life. And this is when I knew the inferno was inescapable. I couldn’t run. Finally, as everything was burning around me, I stopped. I metaphorically laid down and let the fire sweep over me. And when I let it envelop me, this heralded the moment of…
... Death.
We think of Death as quiet and still. Everything felt exposed. Raw. I was vulnerable in a way I had never been before and it was too painful to even move. It was as if I couldn’t open my eyes. I was unable to look around me and take in the landscape of my life in this moment. I was numb and alone.
And yet, there was something different about this Death. I was somehow still alive. This was confusing and foreign. Fire had touched every part of me but somehow I still survived? Realizing I still had life somewhere in my bones, I was able to slowly sit up and survey what was left. While Death was still present, at least the fire was gone. But my sense was correct: it had impacted everything. As I finally opened my eyes, now I realized what surrounded me was…
... Ashes.
Fire brought anger. But after its good work was complete, grief settled in while the smoke cleared. This was the moment I could start to name the losses: hope of reconciliation, trust in a system bigger than myself, security of familiarity and finances. It was all gone. Although I was singed by the flames and my lungs ached for a clean, cool inhalation, I could no longer hold back the sobs.
The lament was fueled by the recognition of what I had endured. I screamed at the sky. Wept until the tears ran dry. I questioned it all and shook my fist at the Holy One. And finally came the collapse into despair. Everything I thought I wanted and needed was disappearing with the breeze.
Even in the desolation of the valley of Ashes, a voice began to rise from the deepest part of my being. My ears full of dust couldn’t silence the comfort I heard. The voice was less “words” and more “knowing.” It was a sense deep within me that I would be okay.
I remember settling in front of a mirror. Looking deep into my own eyes and promising: “I’m going to take care of you.” It felt impossible in that moment, but I somehow knew I was trustworthy. I laid on the ground - allowing full contact with the earth - to prove to my body I was still alive and could be held.
The clearer my realization that I was alive, the clearer the sky above me and the air around me became. Finally, I was able to see what had survived the inferno. And what didn’t just survive, but was enhanced. How could this be? My compassion was more pure and vibrant than ever. My desire for goodness was strong and whole. Honesty became the guiding force of my internal landscape and reality reverberated through my entire being. And with this new reality came…
… Rebirth.
Rebirth did not arrive as an explosion of joy. It arrived quietly—like breath returning after suffocation. As the smoke cleared, so did my understanding: this fire was not sent to destroy me. It was the love required to reveal the true ME. What burned was never my essence—only what had been built around it.
Rebirth is not a single moment; it is a daily return to myself. A posture of kindness rather than contempt—toward my own body, heart, and mind, and toward those around me. It looks like saying yes to comfort and care. I know I am living from Rebirth when rest comes easily and my body finally trusts enough to let go.
Love came through Fire purified and refined. This is not the self-sacrificing love of my youth, one that erases me and holds my behavior hostage. This is a strong, capable love that can hold the tension of my needs along with others. I no longer live by rules but by the steady, discerning, and embodied love of Jesus as my authority and guide.
The work of Rebirth focuses on the painfully slow process of building self-trust. This doesn't come in huge leaps or grand gestures, but in the quiet honoring of my desires. When I make mistakes, I respond with gentleness and a refusal to abandon myself in the future.
Much of Rebirth is happening in my body. I can stay with myself through ordinary moments, whispering, “It makes sense I would try it this way,” when old beliefs of striving and effort try to take hold. I can choose myself fully knowing this is the redemptive path for the abuse, neglect, and self-erasure I endured.
My true identity wasn’t taken in the flames: she was revealed. The woman of strength, power, and love had been there all along, waiting beneath the layers of fear, obligation, and disappearance. The phoenix is not a fairy tale. It is a woman who survives what should have erased her and discovers that her core remains untouched.
I have walked through Fire and made it out alive. My life is now rooted in safety, honesty, deep relationships, and love. Not because I rebuilt myself, but because I reclaimed who I have always been. And if you find yourself standing in the flames, know this: Ashes are not the end. They are the ground from which identity is reborn.
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